A Noble Death
by The Lurking Writer
Summary: The first time, it was the author, in the bookstore, with the hardback… the second time, an eight-legged toy was the culprit… Just how many times can one woman die? The /real/ mystery is why she won't stay dead… /Post JE Spoilers. Donna, Jack, Ten & more…
1. Justice Served…

**Title:** A Noble Death

**Date:** 11th August 2008

**Author:** Jon C. (The Lurking Writer)

**Disclaimer:** Bearing in mind the fact that I'm less than half the age of the television show, does anyone really think I'd have let Series 4 end the way it did? I do not own Doctor Who, nor am I (sadly) one of its current writers. No profit is being made on this, blah blah blah…

**Summary: **The author did it, in the bookstore, with the hardback…

**Rating:** K / K+ (Spoilers for Series 4; also, implied character demise, as if the title didn't give it all away)

**Author's Note(s):** Slightly too long to be a drabble but still too short to be much of anything else. This simply popped fully formed into my mind whilst I was eating lunch today and it positively begged to be written.

Oh, and there's a quote or two from Series 4 in the mix somewhere. See if you can spot them.

And finally, please don't hate me – honestly, I'm rather fond of Donna's character and I really didn't like the way her story arc was concluded. One of the best companions as far as I'm concerned (up there with Ace, Romana, Sarah Jane, K-9, Jack, and Rose). This may be followed up by a slightly more AU (though possibly not) sequel of sorts.

Constructive criticism or merely opinions will be gladly accepted though I'd appreciate no overt flaming… leave that to the pyromaniacs if you please.

* * *

In the end it wasn't some almighty revelation that triggered Donna's neural implosion. She'd somehow miraculously endured numerous mentions of the words 'Doctor', 'alien invasion', 'the whole planet _moved'_, 'Daleks', 'the bees are still disappearing', 'there's something on your back', and uncountable other phrases that _should_ have released her memories and killed her as an afterthought.

Even sightings of a freakishly skinny man with _great_ hair talking to her Gramps of all people and that funny blue box that seemed to crop up everywhere she looked were simply met with blatant dismissal.

At the last moment, though, what really caused Donna's demise was quite simply an innocuous collection of words that caught her eye as she signed her autograph in her first novel.

"What's your name, love?"

"Jack."

Nice, easy name, she thought. With a flourish she'd picked up somewhere along the line, she lifted the pen and prepared to hand the book over until she _really_ looked at the pages before her. The title, something she'd heard once but couldn't remember when or where, simply read:

**A Journal Of Impossible Things**

But, on the page to its left, the one that always held legal requirements and sundry other details that Donna didn't much care about, three simple words immediately lodged themselves in her mind, loosening the whatever-it-was that held her precious memories and the golden flame of someone else's consciousness in darkness. Three simple words that leapt out at her: _Copyright Donna Noble_.

Rainbow sparks and a burning pain filled her to bursting as she _remembered_ _everything _all at once—memories both hers and not, feelings both young and ancient. A brief flicker of Agatha Christie commenting to her after the Vespiform sank beneath the lake all those decades and months ago, "_Death comes as the end and justice is served_…"

And as she collapsed into the arms of the rather attractive American she'd signed the book for, a smile graced her face one last time.

"You've _got_ to be _kidding_ me… Hello, Captain…"

—_Finis_—

(Sort of…)


	2. …Again?

**Title:** A Noble Death

**Date:** 12th August 2008

**Author:** Jon C. (The Lurking Writer)

**Disclaimer:** Didn't I do one of these for the last chapter? All sentiments still apply, though I'm working on one of them…

**Summary:** Because one death's just not enough…

**Rating:** K / K+ (Spoilers for Series 4; also, implied character demise, as if the title didn't give it all away)

**Author's Note(s):** I said this story might have a follow-up, and this is the beginning of it (sort of). Imaginary points for whomever can guess what this is all about, or how many times it'll happen (if indeed it'll continue happening in this manner)…

**Apologetic Addendum:** Wales is a lovely country full of wonderful people—I've got Welsh ancestry somewhere along the line as well (traced my family name back a millennia to Wales and the Celts). For some reason, though, self-obsessed!Donna doesn't really think much about either… Be kind to her.

* * *

"_You've _got_ to be _kidding_ me_… _Hello, Captain_…"

It took a few minutes for Donna Noble to wake up that morning. Something kept dragging at the corner of her thoughts, almost like there was a tiny creature in her head gently nudging the back of her eyes. Not painful as such but certainly uncomfortable.

It felt like Déjà Vu only more confusing, because it felt like she'd had that before, too, but all about the same thing. Ga, she couldn't concentrate on anything without caffeine this early in the morning. Who wakes up at 4:38 am anyway?

Practically collapsing onto the wooden chair in the kitchen, Donna quietly nursed her cup of tea, breathing in the warm vapours. Her mind had settled into a rare stillness after a few moments, as if the aroma were a soothing balm for a burning fever. Infusion of tannins and free radicals, just what the doctor ordered...

Still too groggy to really pay attention to her own thoughts and feeling a good deal warmer than earlier, Donna gradually began to doze off once more.

* * *

Whatever possessed her to agree to this stupid trip anyway? Who wanted to go to _Wales_? At Night! Nobody sane, she told herself. Perhaps that's why she'd agreed to come along, although she certainly couldn't remember saying anything about it. She'd felt like she was slightly less than sane quite often recently.

Walking along a dark street in the middle of an estate some bright spark had decided to call Splott was not Donna's idea of a good time, though, whatever rationale she futilely tried to convince herself with. She half-expected/desired a bit of trouble, anything at all to break up the monotony of the darkness, something that'd require a bit of running and some fancy-suited paper-thin bloke to come along and save the day with some über technobabble and a flash-git grin.

She ignored that thought, as she'd done all others similar to it that evening, passing it off as the red wine sloshing around her head. Never mind that she'd only had half a glass and that had been with her hotel dinner two or three hours ago.

Now where did her friends say they were going to meet up? Why did Carys have to suggest they meet up in _Cardiff_ of all places for the weekend, anyway, just because she lived there? And, really, she must be lost because Splott was practically the middle of nowhere, not that the rest of Cardiff was any better in her admittedly unenlightened judgement.

Flipping heck, her brain was coming up with some hefty lingo tonight. Someone must have crammed a dictionary down her throat while she'd been sleeping.

She checked her watch again for the umpteenth time that hour, still trying to work out where she was and where she was going. If only her stupid phone hadn't died on her after walking past that big fountain in the city centre she could've texted Carys and gotten directions.

Movement, barely registered, out of the corner of one eye… Well of course there was going to be movement, she was outside! Get a grip, woman.

She hated spiders.

Now where had that thought come from? Nasty eight-legged—

There, what was that? No? Yes. Really? Can't be. Bloody hell!

— giant red fluffy kids' toy being thrown from an open window of a passing car. She jumped, despite herself. It was almost like seeing the Empress all over again…

"Donna?"

Did she know any Americans? She had the vague suspicion that she knew one... had signed a book for him, even though she'd never written one…

Blinding pain!

_Lance falling forever, Huon particles, Christmas Day, Racnoss, Doctor, Thames emptied, Santa robots, big blue flying box on the motorway_…

Before she could fall to the floor, strong arms caught her and held her close.

"Oh. Hello, Jack, we've _really_ got to stop doing this..."

She never did see the confused expression on his face. Not this time around, at least…

—_Finis_—

(Well_, _I_ say _that…)


	3. Pizzas and Paradoxes…

**Title:** A Noble Death

**Date:** 12th / 13th August 2008

**Author:** Jon C. (The Lurking Writer)

**Disclaimer:** Been there, done that, can't sew so I haven't got the t-shirt yet but I'm sure I can find one on eBay if I look hard enough…

**Summary:** Who has _pizza_ delivered underground?

**Rating:** K / K+ (Spoilers for Series 4; also, implied character demise, as if the title didn't give it all away)

**Warning:** Condition Mauve – Serious Technobabble Alert. Also, this is a _much_ longer chapter than the previous two, as a result of the first part of this warning.

**Author's Note(s):** Well the Doctor _had_ to make an appearance at some point, right? Even in Doctor-Lite episodes he has a few things to say. And believe me, he definitely has a 'few' things to get off his chest—and this is _before_ we go back through his personal time line for a bit of back story. And this isn't really a Doctor-Lite story at all. Not in the slightest.

This chapter may seem like a bit of a change of pace but it's actually a smidgen of exposition with a little sneak-peak into what Jack thinks of the events of the first two chapters.

Also, apologies for the near future but updates won't be every day, so you know. I've currently planned this out to at least 8 chapters, though that number is subject to increase and/or decrease—haven't decided which just yet. I surprise myself sometimes – three days ago, I didn't even know I was going to be writing this story, and now I've already got the last chapter in outline form.

As always, reviews and constructive criticism are welcomed if not encouraged. I'm liable to weave in reviewer-submitted ideas if they give me permission and I'm probably going to tweak this story to death once it's complete…

* * *

"_Everybody is so rushed, they don't take time for the whimsical, the **light**._"

—_Mark Allen_

* * *

**Some Form Of Interlude… Or Not**

The Doctor kept sending suspicious looks at the now silent mobile phone that rested on the console. He'd just received two rather lengthy messages from an old friend and it disturbed him greatly. Not the being contacted, as such, but rather the reason behind it.

"Right, then, best get on with it I suppose."

Gently rubbing the coral surface of the console with one hand whilst entering in the co-ordinates for Cardiff with the other, the Doctor tried desperately not to think about what he would soon be facing.

With one final jolt, the TARDIS landed. Her lights flickered slightly and the ever-present humming wound down a notch or two as she settled in. The sound of the universe had barely disappeared before the Doctor exited the TARDIS and came grin to frown with one Captain Jack Harkness. The grin disappeared instantly.

"Long time no see, Captain."

"Too long."

"So this is your little branch of Torchwood, then."

"Less of the little."

"Just got your message."

Jack merely raised an eyebrow before he turned around and walked quickly towards the centre of the Hub and the bank of computer monitors that lay beyond. The Doctor, slightly perturbed at his friend's actions, quietly closed the door of the TARDIS behind him. He marvelled silently at just how tightly she'd managed to park herself—there were barely six inches of space either side of her. The grin began working its way back onto his features.

"Nice work, old girl."

"You coming, Doctor?"

"Of course."

/ / / /

A quick reunion with Mickey Smith and Martha Jones (now Milligan—she glared at him for missing the wedding but it wasn't _his_ fault he'd been caught by Ice Warriors and the TARDIS refused to let him juggle with the timelines) followed by slightly longer reintroductions to Ianto Jones and Gwen Cooper (she couldn't really remember much of her wedding, something about 'retcon' in the drinks but she hadn't taken her husband's name) brought the Doctor up to speed but he was waiting on Jack to initiate the reason for his arrival.

Jack, at least as far as the Doctor remembered, was being unusually silent on the matter. Was he being tested? Well, he'd never really managed to master patience all that well. Three seconds after he planned to succeed at this test, he failed it.

"So, just how many times did you say you thought you'd held her as she died?"

The ex-Time Agent gave a brief smile, unconcealed amusement at his victory.

"Twice, so far. I was checking up on her the first time, like you asked. She'd written a novel and I thought I'd pick up a copy, get it signed maybe. Next thing I know, she's falling out of her seat and her eyes were glowing gold. Then she disappeared and everything around me just... changed. I know it was real, Doc, it had to be—besides, I've got proof."

Jack produced a blue book from the depths of his trench coat and handed it to the Doctor, whose eyes widened slightly at the cover design and the title.

"Go ahead, look inside it," Jack urged, softly.

The Doctor tentatively opened the cover and looked at the title page, the neat but wonderfully flowing script of Donna's handwriting. His breath caught in his throat; the inscription—_Dear Jack, may this book give your imagination but wings to fly, Donna Noble—_seemed slightly more mature than the Donna he'd last seen, but then his eyes were drawn to the same three words that she had been, almost instantly remembering the last time he'd encountered them.

"And the second time?" He uttered, once he regained his composure.

"Splott. About half nine at night, last Saturday. No idea what she was doing in Wales, let alone Cardiff, but I practically ran right past her while I was trying to track down a Dravidian arms trader. Never did catch him but I did see the Nossrac corpse he threw from his car window. Donna took one look at the thing, heard me call out her name and fell into my arms again. Told me we really had to stop doing that and then she disappeared. Again."

"And you only thought to call me after the _second_ time?" The Doctor felt a bubble of anger rise up within him and his eyes darkened abruptly.

"_No_, Doctor, _you_ only decided to listen to your messages after the second time had happened." Jack was keeping a tighter rein on his emotions though the set of his jaw was suddenly much harder.

"Bah, semantics," the Doctor sputtered, waving a hand airily, trying to defuse the tension, mainly by ignoring it. "Anyway, this situation's _impossible_. Donna's become a walking, talking, _living_ Paradox, and yes that's with capitalization. It's terrifying. Brilliant, 'cause she's still alive and all, but still terrifying."

"So what can we do, Doc?"

"First things first but not necessarily in that order... ooh, I like that. Have I said it before? Anyway," he shook his head, "Numero Uno, I've told you before to stop calling me that—gives me the urge to shout out 'Great Scott' for no apparent reason. B, or secondly, there's not much we can do at the moment. I mean, technically we can observe and make sure she doesn't get killed in the conventional sense and even then I'm not sure she won't weave that into her little parallagé effect, but it's pretty much up to her. She's completely unique, Jack."

The Doctor paused for a second to gather his thoughts in a more coherent manner.

"Now, I'm the first to admit that I've been around the Universe a few times and I've seen my share of Creation but this is beyond even me. There was a really important reason no one's heard of successful Human-Time Lord biological metacrises but Donna's ignoring it and that just doesn't make _sense_. Oh, I'm not saying it isn't _good_..." The Doctor's jaw opened and closed a couple of times while his brain caught up with his mouth. "But on the other hand, it isn't good," he concluded, unable or perhaps unwilling to continue glamorizing things.

Mickey, having seen and heard the Doctor rant in the past quite often enough for his liking promptly joined the conversation. Anything to slow the Doctor, even slightly, before he gathered any more steam. "And what's that supposed to mean? In English, for those of us who aren't alien geniuses or Captain Cheesecake."

The Doctor span around, one hand unconsciously ruffling through his hair, the other held palm upwards imploringly at Mickey.

"As much as I love your language—and I do, I really do!—it's so inexact! I'm trying to describe an eight-dimensional concept using words that barely stretch to the fourth! That's why my language was produced—mathematically perfect and one hundred percent accurate. Well, ninety-nine percent. Well, ninety-eight and a bit. _Anyway_, the problem with that is, I'm the only one left who can speak it and understand it—the TARDIS won't translate for you because of its precision and English is the complete opposite – it's like trying to compare Imperial with Metric, only Gallifreyan's about a thousand times more accurate than Metric on a bad day. So I'm stuck trying to cut this up into banana-slices for you."

"So? Show me the banana!" Mickey was grinning, even though he'd essentially failed his first attempt. Maybe next time it might work?

"I'm getting to it, Mickety-Mick-Mick. The _point_ is that Donna Noble is about the most unique thing in the whole of creation, even more than me and my TARDIS, 'cause at least we came from something similar, we had others like us. But Donna, brilliant, magnificent Donna, well, there's never ever been _anything_ like her. Ever. We're flying blind here, Mickey boy. Does that frighten you? 'Cause allow me to let you in on a little secret: it scares me. It scares me so much because this is happening to my _friend_ and I have no idea what to do, absolutely no idea. Which is _exactly_ why I'm currently here with you lot, 'cause you humans are amazing creatures when you want to be and you've proven you can come up with ideas and solutions that I can't even begin to contemplate. Rose and Donna both proved that."

The Doctor paused—his hearts still twinged whenever he allowed himself to think of Rose and Donna, no matter how much time passed, and this new 'adventure' wasn't helping matters.

Mickey immediately seized on this golden opportunity.

"Well then, if there's nothing we can do but wait for Donna to die again… who's up for pizza?"

"Pizza?"

Ha, Mickey thought to himself, that was practically speechless where the Doctor was concerned.

"We get it delivered, sir," Ianto added, helpfully.

"Yes, but _pizza_?"

If Rose had been there she would've called the Doctor's scrunched up expression '_adorable_.'

"They don't serve it in outer space or somethin', Doctor? C'mon, it can't have been that long since you've had pizza." Mickey was having fun—there hadn't been nearly enough time for that in the year since his return to this universe.

"About twenty eight years or so if I've got the time differential right."

"What?" Gwen, who'd hitherto been simply an observer, contributed her confusion.

"I'll explain about it another time. Now what's this about pizza—since when do beyond-the-government hyper-secret organizations get fast food delivered to their hidden underground base?"

"Trust me, we've got an account at Dominoes—should get discount for decades of loyalty, I reckon," Martha whispered conspiratorially in his ear, still trying to wrap her head around the Doctor's long-winded and manic explanations.

"Don't tell me you're in on this too?" His voice sounded almost as if he were scandalized.

"Hey, I like to indulge every now and then! It's not a crime."

"Thought you were meant to be a doctor, hmm?" He blinked owlishly at her crossed arms and closed-lip expression. "All right, all right. So, who takes the order then? Do they do walnut and anchovy?"

"Considering what Owen used to eat," Gwen mused, "I wouldn't be surprised."

"Brilliant!"

/ / / /

Empty pizza boxes littered the floor like a cardboard obstacle course. The Doctor weaved his way around or over them without even noticing. He was chewing on the last slice of his rather peculiar snack, slowly building a hypothesis. He'd grown solemn and quiet after the conversation about Dravidians and Nossrac and all the other flotsam that fell through the rift.

The other occupants of the Hub were scattered around the cavernous room in almost as haphazard a manner as the detritus from their meal. Ianto fidgeted in his seat, fighting the compulsion to clear everything away.

Mickey idly checked the monitors beside him for rift activity, happily surprised at how subdued the rift was that night. Had the Doctor done anything to it? Last time Mickey had been in Cardiff with the Doctor, all hell had almost broken loose.

On another monitor, one the Doctor himself had commandeered, a satellite image of Donna Noble's approximate location was displayed alongside some basic energy readings. No one paid any attention to the spikes that had been registering every fifteen minutes.

Without warning, the Doctor stopped in his tracks and clicked his fingers.

"Jack, how long has it been since Donna saw me last?"

"What? Oh, about two years or so, why?"

"What are you talking about, Jack," Gwen said, "It's only been a year since the Daleks!"

"What?"

"Twelve months and eight days, actually," Ianto supplied.

"So, twenty-eight years for me give or take a week, three for Donna, and only one for you lot."

"What?"

"Seriously now, stop it," the Doctor said, getting annoyed, "That's _my_ line. Anyway, I think I have an idea that might help me test my theory as to what's happening with Donna. Jack, Martha, I'm sorry to bring this up again, but... you both remember what happened on the Valiant—"

"God, I thought I'd gotten over that Year, even though seeing Tom's face every day means I'll never forget it."

"I died 384 times. One for every day of the year that never was, and a few more for after the escape attempts. Even retcon doesn't erase all that," said Jack, his tone grave. "Not that I've tried it," he added after a sharp look from Gwen.

"I know, and I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that, both of you," the Doctor quietly sympathised, "But that year _never_ happened _except_ for those of us on the Valiant, because we were at the eye of the storm when you destroyed the Paradox Machine, remember?"

It was almost comical the way Jack straightened from his slouch and raised a finger in the air between them.

"So what you're saying is that every time Donna dies in my arms, the paradox is resetting itself but as I'm right there when it happens, I remember everything?"

Well, he nearly had it right.

"Yes and no. You're a fixed point in Time, after all." The Doctor cringed apologetically. "I think that tiny spark of the Time Vortex in you is reacting to or with the Paradox somehow, connecting you to it. You don't exactly have two whole years extra worth of memories crammed into your skull but you do know that's how much time had progressed for Donna when she disappeared on you." The Doctor paused for a second, letting it sink in. "She's living her life until the metacrisis breaks down and kills her. Every time she dies, the Paradox resets itself to when the metacrisis happened the first time—if she's only died twice, then that means it's technically been three years since the metacrisis for her. I'm guessing, though, that all those extra memories of hers are getting stored in her pre-conscious somewhere."

He idly picked up Donna's novel and began flicking through the pages—it was as if she'd turned all her suppressed memories into dreams and then turned those dreams into fiction. He returned his gaze to those around him once he'd finished.

"I think—and I could be wrong except I'm not—that the Paradox is there because the Time Lord consciousness is trying to rewire her brain to accommodate itself without permanently killing her; at least three years worth of subtle changes—how many more before her brain's finally compatible? But that's _impossible_, otherwise I would've tried that instead of suppressing all mention of me in her memories—there's no setting for Time Lord in the Chameleon Arch and I didn't have enough time to wire one in. The only problem with all of this is that I can't see a clear beginning or end point for the Paradox—she's in a self-enclosed loop, as far as I can tell, until we can find a way to end it and we have no idea how many times she'll keep dying."

"(_Almost like Suzie_...)" Gwen whispered to herself.

"But, excuse me, sir, isn't this a little too much like Deus Ex Machina?" Ianto seemed to be getting a little flustered at the thought. "I mean, it's just a touch too... unbelievable, all this happening to an ordinary human."

The Doctor looked gob smacked.

"One, there's no such thing as an ordinary human. Two, you've worked at Torchwood for how long and you _still_ can't suspend your disbelief?" He raised an eyebrow at this, noting Ianto's wince. "Five... no, Three, it can't be Deus Ex Machina if there's no gods or machines involved, which there aren't. Donna _can_ die and _is_ dying, multiple times. It's just like with Jack, only..." His eyes closed tightly, frown lines appearing on his previously smooth forehead.

"What is it, Doctor?" Martha was getting somewhat concerned; he hadn't spoken for almost a minute.

"Oh, how could I be so stupid! '_Just like Jack_'…"

"_Doctor_…"

"You're the catalyst! Just like when Donna was jolted by Davros—that shock energised the Time Lord consciousness in her then, and your presence somehow caused the Paradox to kick in when she signed that book."

The Doctor squinted at one of the monitors keeping watch on Donna Noble—the words in the bottom right corner were incredibly familiar…

"No, it _can't_ be... can it? Yes. Ooh... _No_! Really? What if I've been wrong all these years... It's a _message_, not a warning! Oh, brilliant!"

"_DOCTOR_!" Jack's voice immediately drew the Time Lord back down to planet Earth.

"Oi, no need to shout! What do you want?"

"What the hell were you talking about?" Mickey was dividing his attention between the Doctor and the monitor he'd been looking at.

"What? Oh, that—it's quite simple, really. Fantastically simple, in fact."

"Well...?" Gwen asked, expectantly.

"Bad Wolf."

These simple words brought out a mixture of reactions in the people around him. Gwen shivered slightly, as if someone had walked over her grave. Mickey's eyes widened as he recalled seeing 'Bad Wolf' painted all over the Powell estates many years ago. Martha and Ianto shared looks of slight confusion with each other, both not quite understanding what the Doctor was talking about, even though Martha had been privy to talk of 'Bad Wolf' before. Jack's jaw bounced off the grating beneath his boots.

"Those words are familiar..." Gwen muttered under her breath, her eyes like saucers.

"They were everywhere," Mickey breathed softly, "When you sent Rose back the last time you were Big Ears..."

"You're joking."

The Doctor merely stared at Jack, his face carefully held blank.

"_Tell_ me you're kidding me, Doc…"

_"Think_ about it, Jack. Rose saw _everything_: the past, the present, and _all_ possible futures, even the impossible ones."

"You're saying Bad Wolf knew this was going to happen to Donna, aren't you." It was a statement, not a question. "Rose knew Donna was going to die, so she's saved her."

"'_Donna Noble has been saved_.' Jack, when Rose was the Bad Wolf she told me, and I quote, '_I want you safe, my Doctor_.' Safe, in Rose's book, means happy and oh! am I happy when **everyone lives**!"

"Great, so now we know what caused this but we still don't know how it's gonna end." Mickey rolled his eyes.

The Doctor seemed to deflate like a punctured tyre.

"Yes, well, I was kind of hoping you'd take a little bit longer to figure that one out…"

—_Finis_—

(Oh, as if I could end the story _there_…)

/ / / /

(/ Jelly Baby, anyone? Tide you over 'til Chapter Four's ready. I've got red ones, if you review… /)


	4. Ode to the Ood…

**Title:** A Noble Death

**Date ****Started:-** 15th August 2008

**Date Completed:-** 20th August 2008

**Author:** Jon C. (The Lurking Writer)

**Disclaimer:** When I'm older I'll invent a time machine, travel back to the '60s and pitch the idea of a new show to the BBC bosses. Until that new timeline asserts itself I'm going to have to assume that I don't own Doctor Who.

**Summary:** Albert and the Aliens, or '_Ood Happenings at the Proms_'…

**Rating:** K / K+ (Spoilers for Series 4; also, implied character demise, as if the title didn't give it all away)

**Author's Note(s):** Credit must be directed to mysterypoet66 for the inspiration behind this particular chapter. I wasn't going to explicitly mention the Ood causing one of Donna's deaths until it was suggested that I should do something to honour them (at the risk of spoiling the story, I will say that the Ood do not make personal appearances). I also wasn't planning on having this chapter be the one in question but then stories do have a funny way of making themselves written the way they want to be without any conscious input from their authors. As it is, though, I'm liable to edit this one a lot after it's uploaded.

If you haven't listened to this year's Proms or paid any attention to the BBC and YouTube, then you might not understand that I'm sort of turning a semi-real event into a fully fictional one. Go look for the "**Music Of The Spheres**" and you might have an idea of what is to come. Part of the dialogue, therefore, isn't mine—it's merely being borrowed. I'd never crack a joke _that_ bad. Not on purpose anyway…

On a slightly separate note, there's a 'small' discussion of Time Lord technology this time around. I've tried to make it consistent with the Whoniverse as much as possible (_i.e. actual DW names and descriptions, with the Doctor mixing them up just because he can_) but I've probably made some errors here and there. If any hardcore Whovians feel like giving this a critical eye I'd really appreciate it. Must give full praise to the TARDIS Technical Index **/»** www (dot) whoniverse (dot) org (forward slash) tardis **«\** for giving me a base to build on. Invaluable tool for the purists among us.

Once again, constructive criticism is practically my lifeblood so please dispense with it as and whenever you can. Failing that, review any way you like. 300+ individual visitors and only 3 reviewers… is my story so bad you can't bring yourselves to comment? **:(**

* * *

**Torchwood 3, Cardiff**

.

"I'm going to regret this, I know I will," the Doctor muttered and grumbled as he wrestled with Jack Harkness's vortex manipulator. He'd done rather too thorough a job at disabling the device and he was struggling to reactivate it, even with his new sonic screwdriver and its red settings.

"Well, if you'd trusted me as much as you say you do, Doctor, you'd have left it alone and we wouldn't be having this trouble. Then again, maybe this is just a clever tactic for getting closer to me…"

Without breaking his gaze from the strap around Jack's wrist, the Doctor uttered a dry, "Stop it," before tapping the lit end of his screwdriver against the centre of Jack's manipulator. He was struggling not to laugh at his friend's recently returned bravado around him because he didn't much fancy making a mistake with his modifications and send Jack, accidentally, hurtling blindly through the Time Vortex. Not that the Doctor hadn't, on occasion, idly thought about doing just that but he realised that it would just be rude and he had _really_ tried to cut back on that over the last few decades. He thought Rose might be proud of him for that, even if she'd never know.

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

"Yes I can, if it's you."

"Ah, but you love it."

"'Course."

"Really?"

"Always did, even the last me."

"Seriously?"

"I may be a clown at times, Jack, but when have I ever lied to you?"

"Well..."

"Exactly."

"You haven't always told the truth, though…"

"What?"

"Hermits United?"

"Ah. A point, I'll give you that. But, and it's a very important one, that wasn't directed at you now, was it?"

"_Doctor_…"

"I'm busy, Jack, and you still haven't bought me that drink…"

"What?"

The Doctor sighed dramatically as he gave one last cursory tap with his screwdriver and took one step back. "All done," he chimed before striding off into the relative safety of the TARDIS.

/ / / /

"So what exactly have you been working on, Doctor? Not that I don't love seeing the TARDIS every day but this is ridiculous—I wish you'd explain things more often."

"That's 'cause you love the sound of my voice not the subject I'm talking about."

"So?"

"All right." The Doctor uncrossed his arms and smoothed his jacket. He hadn't worn this brown suit almost since the night he'd left Donna back with Sylvia and Wilf. Crossing over to the console screen, he moved it into Jack's field of vision and pointed at the image on it.

"It's a slightly-osmotic miniaturized transduction barrier that the TARDIS normally emits around herself—I've simply extended it to include the Hub. Well, I say transduction barrier but it's a bit more complicated than that, and it isn't really a transduction barrier at all but that's the easiest way to describe it—it's not exactly something that comes as standard with timeships and mine doesn't really emit one normally either but I've done quite a lot of tinkering over the centuries. Type 40 Mark who-knows-what."

"Transduction barrier?" Jack asked, knowing from experience that the Doctor needed to be guided into focusing on the task at hand every now and then. "I've heard legends of those things—Gallifrey was said to have one surrounding it. But that had to have needed enormous power…"

"Gallifrey did have a barrier. Wasn't always as brilliant as it should have been mind you, but it kept us safe for over ten million years. As for the power source… ever hear the term 'Eye Of Harmony'?"

"Vaguely. I think. Probably heard it once when I was a cadet at the Agency. Never thought much of it back then. What was it?"

"An artificial black hole that slept beneath the Panopticon; all Time Lord technology drew its power from the Eye—from the barrier itself to every TARDIS, and even some of the Chancellery Guard's stasers. It was created billions of years ago by the Founders of Gallifrey: Omega, Rassilon, and the Other. I sort of had a hand or two in helping its creation. Ooh, I was so _young_ back then. Broke far too many Laws of Time, too—look where that's gotten me."

"Artificial black hole... why does that ring a bell?"

"Probably because I told you the TARDIS has one in her Cloister Room—it's her second Heart. Ever since the end of the Time War, she's been having to refuel on a regular basis, because the Eye Of Harmony in her was linked to the Prime Eye on Gallifrey. What I've done is to use the Eye as a scoop, taking power from the Rift, funnelling that energy into your Rift Manipulator which in turn is the device that's now converting all that flowing energy into the barrier. Give it a couple of weeks and I can unhook the TARDIS from the loop meaning I'll be free to roam again.

Anyway, basically it means that even if the timelines change every time Donna's Paradox resets, everyone inside the Hub will still remember the 'real' timeline. The osmotic part of the barrier is what will allow us to freely travel through it—normally a transduction barrier's virtually impenetrable. A side effect will be that the computers, which I've hooked up to the TARDIS, will be able to absorb the 'new' timeline info without overwriting this one. Effectively, the Hub is now fixed in Time, just like you."

Barely seconds after the Doctor finished talking, as though waiting for the best (though '_worst_' might be more accurate) possible moment to make an entrance, the resonant sound of a bell knelling filled the air, emanating from the depths of the TARDIS; the internal lighting flicked from muted orange to a sort of purplish-red almost instantly. One glance at the Doctor's stricken expression was all it took to set Jack in action, sending him flying through the doors of the timeship.

Noting Donna's current location from the monitors and inputting the co-ordinates into his now working wrist strap, he nodded towards the statuesque Time Lord in an informal salute before activating the teleport function. In a flash of blue light, Jack left Cardiff far behind…

/ / / /

In another part of the United Kingdom (London, to be exact)—and an hour earlier in the day—Donna Noble, music critic, was on her way to the biggest night of her career. Who'd have believed it, slave-to-chat-shows-Donna had breezed her way into her own column in a newspaper just a few short months ago. All those years, all those different jobs—being a temp had finally paid off, culminating in her landing the opportunity to write a whole double-page spread on the most anticipated concert of this year's Proms.

There'd been a revival of an old BBC science-fiction show a couple of years back (neatly explaining all this renewed interest in aliens, Donna privately thought) and there was going to be a 'musical extravaganza' in honour of it, as her editor told her. She couldn't remember what the show was called or what it was about but she could have sworn she'd heard or seen something similar.

Anyway, none of that really mattered. Donna had never been anywhere as upmarket as her destination before and she was looking forward to it. She'd even got dressed up in her best outfit, the burgundy top with the pinstriped suit. And best of all, she'd even managed to wrangle a plus-one ticket from her boss.

"My Donna, I ain't half proud of you, love. If your Dad could see you now…"

"He'd have a heart attack, Gramps. I'm glad you're with me, though. Pomp an' circumstance, all this classical stuff—he never did like this sort of thing."

"And you do, I suppose?" She could hear the smirk in his voice. It was good to hear him in high spirits again.

"I'll have you know that I've always been a fan of the arts." She held her head high, fighting desperately to keep the grin off her face. It was a losing battle.

"Ha! Bloomin' X-Factor's an exhibition, not art."

"Oh yeah, what about those winners, eh? That girl who won it, her second album's number one worldwide."

"In my day we just listened to the music itself, Donna, none of this chart malarkey."

"I know, Gramps, I know. My mind's been broadened a lot since I got this job, you know. Never would have caught me dead going to one of these gigs and now look at me! I really love it, Gramps."

"That's all that matters to me, sweetheart."

/ / / /

The Albert Hall was a magnificent building to behold—even more so once you were inside it, seated in its vaunted and much-praised auditorium. By the time Donna and her grandfather had finally settled in their seats (Donna preparing her tools—good old-fashioned pen and notepad), the Hall had grown quiet in anticipation of the feast to come.

She wasn't sure exactly what she'd been expecting. Yes, she'd told her Gramps that she loved this sort of thing now and she hadn't been lying, but this hardly seemed as… e_xciting_… as it could be. The antics of the star presenters passed her by and the music itself seemed almost flat, two-dimensional. She wouldn't write that down, of course, she might be out of a job if she were to be too critical; she could not put her finger on the matter no matter how she looked at it.

Then the unexpected happened and Donna's interest was piqued, as if she'd known ahead of time that this would occur—a whirling maelstrom of energy appeared out of nowhere above the stage (like those CGI black hole animations she'd sometimes seen on the television), shocking the orchestra into silence.

An alarmed hush fell across everyone present as the mysterious hole grew in size as it floated over the musicians' heads. A barely audible humming emanated from it, though whether it was the hole itself or something _inside_ it, no one quite knew. Everyone was fully aware, though, when the voice began filtering through it.

"…is it? Oh. It's harmless. 'S just a hole in space. But I wonder what's on the other side…"

The hole had widened to almost twelve-feet in size and an orange glow emanated from within—a glow that was mildly blocked out when the image of a man's head, magnified to roughly double the norm, came to the forefront. Whoever he was, he was frowning in bemusement.

"Hello, where's that then? Who are all those people? Hold on, that looks like—is that the Albert Hall?"

No one said a word, although a few small children cried out their confusion every few seconds. The man's frown grew even more apparent.

"I _said_, is that the Albert Hall? I said, is _that_ the Albert Hall!"

Perhaps emboldened by the odd contortions the man's face was making, the children who'd briefly been crying soon began cheering and shouting out "Yes!" to their hearts' content.

"Ooh, brilliant, hello!" Again the children roared out their greetings but the man shook his head further still. "I said _Hello_!" Some of the adults began to join in, clearly bewildered by the current circumstances but not willing to be badgered by their children any further by remaining quiet. Apparently even they weren't quite loud enough. "No, no, no, sorry you'll have to shout. I said HELLO!" This time even Donna found herself responding, though she knew not why.

At last, the man seemed satisfied with the result—almost everyone had shouted out that final time. The man giggled oddly before introducing himself.

"Ha! Listen, my name's the Doctor, I'm a Time Lord, but that is an awful lot of people. What are you all doing there? Ooh! Wait a minute, it's the Proms, is that the Proms? Are you in the Proms? Ohh, I love the Proms, I was in the very first Proms, 1895—I played the tuba, I was brilliant. Is that the orchestra down there? Ooh! Wait there!"

Amidst the laughter his exuberant outburst had caused, the man vanished from within the still swirling hole. The orange glow returned for a scant few seconds before the man returned, holding up a large number of paper sheets. He waved them about idly.

"'Cause, funny thing is, I've just been composing something myself. I said to Beethoven, 'I can rattle off a tune,' he said 'Pardon?'—" (groans of dismay met this statement) "—BUT! I've just been inspired by the Music Of The Spheres. I've written my own symphony. Yeah. And! If I can send these pages, through the portal, then the orchestra can play it. A brand new piece of music, composed by me. What do you think, you ready for this, orchestra?"

The conductor was prompted into nodding enthusiastically upon seeing half his orchestra shrug their shoulders, as if to say "Why not?"

"All right then! Stand by! Three, two, one!" The man threw the sheets through the portal and, as they exited it, they fluttered madly in the air before each one settled itself above each individual member of the orchestra, including the conductor—they all grabbed for the sheets, browsing through the notes and timings, absorbing their individual parts as only professional musicians could. "That's it, that's it. There you go, hurry up! This portal isn't gonna stay open for long. Right! Now, so! If you don't mind, Mr Conductor, wait for my signal. I'm in charge of this one." He redirected his attention to the audience. "Quiet please!" He made multiple 'shh' noises as the crowd took their time. "Silence, settle down! Oi, settle down. So! Ladies and Gentleman and children, t_his_ is the worldwide première of '_Ode to the Ood_.' And…"

On the other side of the portal, the Doctor leaned back and crossed his arms over his blue jacket as he patiently waited for the orchestra to begin. Within a minute of the faint stirrings of the string section, he was rocking gently on the balls of his feet, like a small child, overexcited. A footfall against the grating of the console room alerted him to another presence. He turned his head slightly towards his companion.

"Hey, come and have a listen. Oh, you'll love this—it's the Proms! And they're playing my song!"

Back in the Hall, the orchestra had never seen this music before but by god were they quick learners! The eerie tones of the horn and string sections filled the vast room, underscored by a driving beat from the timpani, reaching all the way to the ears of one Donna Noble who sat beside her grandfather completely entranced by the new sounds. Something loosened in her mind and a beautiful song rose up within her, a beautiful counterpoint to the symphony without. A song of freedom, a song full of joyous, rapturous life!

As the piece gradually wound down to its subtle ending, the Doctor grinned with joy. "Oh! Come on! That was brilliant!" He punched the air above him before taking a small bow, sheer excitement and happiness radiating from his every pore. "Thank you all, I thank you all! No, no, I thank you, really you're too kind." The applause was thunderous.

The portal seemed to be lasting much longer than he'd originally thought it would. With alarming suddenness, the Doctor felt a hand grip his shoulder in silent warning.

"Hang on… this is the night Donna's there!"

"Oh. Blimey. I'd forgotten all about that…" The Doctor leaned back towards the portal, sticking his head as close to it as he dared for only now, when he needed it to stay open just that little bit longer, was it shrinking in size. "Captain! You better be in that Hall by now! Row 15, seat D, now! Wilf, I know you're there—just want to say while I can that a friend will be along in a minute, don't worry, Donna's going to be fine. Trust me."

"What the bloody hell's he on about, that's _my_ seat! Gramps? What's he talking about my seat for? And who the flipping 'eck is he? How does he know our names?" Staring at the man in shock, Donna felt her blood boil as the vague sensations of recognition flickered at the back of her mind. Connections were being made but no clear conclusion had yet presented itself… "I swear I've seen him before…think, Donna, think… _no_… wait, that's it! John Smith! He told me he was _John Smith_! Bloody lying Martian! Ooh, my head…"

"Donna!"

"It's all right, Gramps, I'm all right. I've got a couple of minutes this time."

"What?"

"Gramps, you know I love you, right? Well, I don't say it enough and I should. Whatever happens, I hope some part of you remembers that, all right." She turned back to the rip in the space-time continuum and gazed directly into the Doctor's frantic eyes, urging him to understand that she was fine. Everything would work out in the end. Wilf grabbed her hand. She sighed, unwilling to release his fingers from hers. Well, she'd just have to hope that the Doctor would break this gently to him. Ha! She had all the Time Lord's memories—he'd never managed anything like that before.

The portal closed, leaving the audience in wonder at its existence and subsequent disappearance. Donna and Wilf were deaf to the noise and activity around them.

"But 'e said you'd die if you ever remembered! You're dyin' and there's nothin' I can do!"

"I said it's okay, Gramps." She knew her favourite Torchwood agent would be along soon, just in time for the metacrisis to kill her. "Jack'll explain it to you, don't you worry." The burning pressure in her head was increasing. A few more seconds and she'd go, she knew…

"Donna!" And there came Captain Jack, like a guardian angel, jumping over heads as he ran across the backs of their seats.

"Nice to see you again, Captain…" He was practically in her lap now, left hand in hers, right hand held against her cheek. He didn't utter a single word, simply stroking his thumb gently back and forth, wiping away the solitary tear that ran from a now golden eye.

"Help Gramps understand what's going on. Promise me. And tell the Doctor there's something wrong in the Med—"

—Finis—

(Well, it _might have_ been…)

* * *

**Additional Notes:**

**1)** You may have guessed, the Doctor who appeared in the Proms is from the future of this story... but who is his companion, hmm? Is that his _only_ companion? I'll leave that up to the readers to decide… for now.

**2)** _Really_ wish I could embed sound effects into this, 'cause then I'd have the "_Victorious Ood Song_" from '_Journey's End_', where the TARDIS is towing the Earth back home in place of the frankly inadequate (and probably inaccurate) description of it I've written.

**3)** I'm not as happy with this chapter as I should be. Not entirely sure why—I wanted it to be something… _more_. Ah well, I'll sort it all out once the tweaking starts. I've said it before but I will make sure there are no errors in this story once I've completed it. **:D**


	5. An Awful Lot Of Running…

**Title:** A Noble Death

**Date Started:** 15th August 2008

**Date Completed:** 19th August 2008

**Author:** Jon C. (The Lurking Writer)

**Disclaimer:** I am the Master and I have dominion over all. You can either choose to believe that or accept, like I have, that no matter how hard one might wish it, I don't own the rights to Doctor Who.

**Summary:** The Runaway Metacrisis. The Runaway Child. The Runaway Megalomaniacs?

**Rating:** T (Spoilers for Series 4; also, implied character demise, as if the title didn't give it all away)

**Author's Note(s):** This story isn't all about humorous deaths and tech-based gobbledygook, you know. It's listed as Drama for a reason… I just didn't get around to working that in 'til now (least I hope this chapter counts as Drama—it'd be a bit annoying to find out it's something completely different this late in the game). Be warned: though it's not exactly _graphically_ described, some horrible things are going to happen to a couple of characters… and this chapter's only the beginning.

Also, the total chapter count has increased to 14 (probably). That's not including unexpected detours (otherwise they wouldn't be unexpected).

I mentioned it somewhere that I'm going to tweak this story to death once it's complete—I haven't changed that decision. As soon as the final chapter's up, I'll start working on the revisions. I'm a perfectionist when I want to be, and I like this story enough to want it written the way it should be read. Which is precisely why I ask for constructive criticism. I like simple praise and insults as much as the next person but I'm an author constantly trying to hone my craft and I can't do that without outside help—I need to know what works and what doesn't from a _reader's_ perspective.

Feel free to tell me whether you liked or hated this story but I'd really appreciate if you could point out the parts you think work well (or 'best') and the parts that don't. At the end of the day, I can use all that wonderful feedback to make this a better story, and isn't that the whole point of this site, to write tales that people want to read? **;D**

* * *

"_Nice to see you again, Captain_… _Help Gramps understand what's going on. Promise me. And tell the Doctor there's something wrong in the Med_—"

It took almost a quarter of an hour for Donna Noble to wake up. The pressure in her head wasn't quite up to migraine standards but nor was it strictly painless; she could certainly feel it behind the backs of her eyes, making her wish she hadn't switched on her bedside lamp quite so quickly.

Taking one aborted glance at her clock (_4:38 am—why on Earth would anyone be conscious so early in the day?_), Donna untangled herself from her quilt and dragged herself downstairs. Operating on autopilot, she rummaged through one of the cupboards in the kitchen until her questing hands took hold of their prize.

Now she needed something to wash the pills down with, and something to eat as well—last time she'd taken aspirin without something lining her stomach she'd been incredibly nauseous. Seizing a banana from the fruit bowl, she busily set about making herself a warm cuppa. Nothing like tea to soothe the synapses and all that.

It would be no use trying to get back to sleep, she knew. Might as well focus on the day ahead. And for what felt like the fourth time in as many days, she tried to think what she'd do with the rest of her life…

/ / / /

_**One Year Later…**_

It had been one month to the day since Jack Harkness had first seen Donna die. In the following weeks, he'd seen her die twice more. She wasn't in danger of catching his personal record but watching someone else go through what he had (in a sense) was more painful than it had any right to be. It didn't help that he'd actually started to care about Donna in a way he hadn't had a chance to when they'd met in the TARDIS the day the Earth had been stolen.

While the outside world had changed three times since then, things inside the Torchwood Hub remained relatively unchanged, except perhaps with the seemingly permanent addition of a blue police box. Cables trailed from its open door across the cavernous room's grating, connecting to various computers and other devices that could all virtually be described by the word 'alien'.

It had taken the Doctor the better part of two days (he neither ate, drank, or slept during that time) to create this transformation, even with the distractions caused by the Torchwood agents going about their business; once or twice he'd even been called out into the field to deal with alien threats bigger than Torchwood was prepared for.

All in all, if Jack hadn't known (and still shared, to some extent) the Doctor's unceasing wanderlust, he'd have offered the Time Lord a permanent position on his team. He'd always known the Doctor was a genius but these past few weeks with him had shown Jack that even that word was beginning to show signs of inadequacy.

Just what the Doctor had been working to achieve he'd not said, exactly, until a week after he was sure it had been perfected. The announcement that he'd created a slightly-osmotic miniature transduction barrier situated around the Hub, was enough, at the time, to set Jack's mind reeling. He'd heard legends of transduction barriers from his stint in the Time Agency…

The transduction barrier essentially placed the Hub slightly outside of the normal timeline, effectively sealing it off from outside 'interference' such as would happen when Donna's Paradox reset itself. The Doctor said that he'd extended the natural barrier that was wrapped around and through the structure of the TARDIS; it had only taken him so long to complete because he'd refused to cannibalise her innards—she was a living creature after all, he reasoned, and he was not the Master.

Barely a few minutes after that revelation, it had become necessary for the Captain to teleport to Donna Noble's location. Thankfully the Doctor had finished fixing Jack's manipulator at the last minute. Still, if it wasn't for the last minute, he and the Doctor would never get _anything_ done, he'd always thought.

As a result of this, however, when the outside timeline changed, the Hub computers had had to accommodate twelve months of altered history. Once again, the TARDIS proved herself a magnificent being, happily conversing with the Torchwood computer system as if it were a part of her own inner workings.

The TARDIS had also aided Wilf in reintegrating himself into the new timeline, for which he was immensely relieved (as were everyone else). It seemed that everyone who'd either held Donna as she'd 'died' (or had been within the protective influence of the TARDIS or the Hub at that precise moment) was incorporated into the 'new' timeline, as if everything they'd done in the past year hadn't changed, only the circumstances surrounding the day of Donna's 'death.'

Jack had had one hell of a time working out what had happened the first time around, and had been even more confused for the sequel. He didn't even want to consider thinking how Wilf felt about all of this. It was bad enough _he_ had to think about it; he _hated_ having to put quotation marks around words, even in his own mind.

And yet, all these things only amounted to being able to observe Donna and the many different timelines that flowed around her. Mickey had set up two monitors to continuously follow her, checking up on her vitals and acting as an improvised warning system for whenever Donna was likely to experience a metacrisis-induced death. Fifteen minutes was all they could manage on the precognitive front. Still, better than none at all, right?

Jack felt strangely perverse in the way he constantly monitored Donna's activities, learning who she was on a day-to-day basis without really being able to experience it by her side. As a result of her 'deaths', he had come to know some very diverse people calling themselves Donna Noble. An author, a self-indulgent, a music critic. Now it seemed she'd decided marathon running was to be her raison d'être.

Jack had the odd thought that Donna was playing out various aspects of the Doctor's character.

It wasn't long after that thought had flitted through his head that the Hub was filled with two discordant warnings. One, a bell tolling imminent 'doom' and the other, a klaxon that alerted the team to Rift activity.

Jack knew immediately what the bell signified, as he'd already been standing by "Donna Monitor Number One" (or DM1, as Jack preferred to call it—acronyms were _so_ much easier to deal with in crises) but the klaxon momentarily surprised him; the Rift had been unbelievably quiet of late… perhaps the Doctor had something to do with it? He'd disappeared earlier that day for reasons unspoken.

Jack didn't have time to find out; he needed to locate Donna and teleport to her side as soon as possible. Fourteen minutes to metacrisis-induced death, part four…

/ / / /

Raising money for charity, that's what she told herself. Raising money for all those people whose lives had been wrecked by all those terrorist plots over the past few years. The problem was, initially, that she didn't really know how to go about doing that, and did she really want to use her own money to fund it all? She didn't have a permanent job and she knew temp work wouldn't last forever.

It wasn't until Donna had taken up jogging and quite literally bumped into one of the organizers of the London Marathon that she knew exactly what to do with her life. Fast-talking that executive had quickly gained her an interview at Southwark Street, where she eagerly agreed to sign on in whatever capacity they needed.

Three months later, she had her own cubicle.

Eight months after that, she'd been promoted to her own office.

Now, Donna was just about to reach her thirteenth mile in the race itself. She'd developed a passion for running—here, there, everywhere, even on the spot. She must have been an athlete in a previous life because she was certainly a lot fitter than she'd thought she was, even before almost a year's worth of training.

Still, no matter how much training someone endures, when another person crashes into them unexpectedly, both are likely to lose their balance and fall over. Donna was no exception to this rule. Neither was the slight blonde-haired girl who'd created the problem in the first place, appearing almost out of nowhere.

"Ugh… Ooh, sorry about that, still getting used to this gravity field." A small hand that belied the strength of its grip firmly but gently held Donna's arm and helped her back to her feet. It was only after she'd shook her head and turned to look at her 'assailant' that she realised the grip on her arm had fallen away and the girl before her was gaping like a goldfish.

"Donna?"

"Yeah, that's my name. What did you go and crash into me for?"

"Donna?"

"Oi, back to Earth, space-girl. I asked you a question. And how'd you know my name, anyway?"

"What?"

"Look, if you're not going to answer my questions, fine. If you don't mind, I'm in the middle of a bloody marathon, trying to raise a bit of money for charity here, so goodbye."

"Wait! Don't you recognise me?"

"Of course I don't! Haven't got a flippin' clue who you are! Bye."

"_Damn it, I knew this thing was unreliable. I've come back in time too far, before she's met Dad. But that's impossible, the timelines _feel_ right_…"

Donna had barely put one foot in front of the other, intent on returning to the race, when she span around and nearly tripped herself up in the process.

"What did you just say?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What. Did. You. Just. Say?"

"Nothing, it doesn't matter, sorry to bother you."

"Hold on, you just said something about coming back in time—I think that qualifies as 'something', all right! Who are you, and don't try running rings around me, I ain't stupid."

"My name's Jenny."

"Jenny what?"

"No idea, haven't got a last name. You never gave me one."

"What?"

"I'm from the future—you were there when I was born, you named me. This is the right timeline, I _know_ it is, which means somehow your memories have been altered and that means I have to find Dad because I think he'd know how to—" The girl who'd identified herself as Jenny stopped talking the moment she saw the look of intense pain on Donna's face. "Donna, what's wrong? Speak to me, Donna, what's wrong?"

Donna didn't answer. If she did, Jenny didn't notice because she'd just spotted a man teleporting across the road from them, and her immediate reaction to the sight of this admittedly handsome figure wasn't what she'd expected from her body. Every nerve in her body tingled and her stomach churned unpleasantly; every sense was screaming at her about how _wrong_ this man was, and she didn't know why.

The man in the blue trench coat weaved his way through the runners towards them and Jenny backed away, grabbing Donna's hand, fully intent on dragging the older woman with her.

"What _are_ you?" Jenny felt an almost overwhelming urge to run, run as far from this man as she possibly could.

"The name's Captain Jack Harkness. I should be asking what _you_ are, your pheromones are definitely non-human. And more importantly, you're holding my friend."

"_Jenny_…"

"Your friend? She never mentioned your name."

"_Jack_…"

"She probably met me after you did. Non-linear lifetime and all that jazz."

"You say _I'm_ not human, but you still haven't told me what you are—there's something definitely off about you, 'Captain.' You talk of pheromones and non-linear lifetimes—you're as much apart from this world as I am. And look, you have a vortex manipulator. Hmm, bigger than mine. Overcompensating for something?"

"Would you two _please…_ Shut… Up… Ga, could cut the tension with a scrunched up post-it note…"

"Donna?" Both Jenny and Jack turned to her, shocked and slightly chagrined that they'd forgotten her, however temporarily. Donna stumbled forward a few steps before Jack caught her other arm.

"Captain Cheesecake and Dumbo's Daughter, wasting my minutes—hang on, weren't you _dead_? Wait, no time for that, I'll work it out later. Right, Jack, hope you're listening—there's somethin' wrong in the Medusa Cascade, haven't figured out what or how I know yet; my brain's being rewired by Space-boy's mind and it's working even when it's sitting in the back of my pre-conscious so it's got a head-start on this thing; and tell the Doctor that every time I die my brain's just that little bit better able to cope with the metacrisis and oh god it burn—"

She disappeared. London changed around them.

They were both nearly hit by a black cab before Jack noticed the oncoming vehicle, grabbed Jenny's arm and pulled her onto the pavement with him. A number of jeers, select curse words, and the cab's horn followed them.

"_What_!"

Jenny's face had returned to the fish-like impression she'd mastered a short while ago.

"Don't worry, she does that now…" Jack quipped, returning his gaze to where Donna had been standing only moments before. What the hell had she been talking about? He hoped to hell and back the Doctor would be able to make sense of it. And as for this Jenny—apart from being beautiful—he wasn't sure what to make of her. He couldn't remember anyone ever reacting to him in that fashion before, although alarm bells were ringing in his head. The skin of her bare arm beneath his fingers was much cooler than it should have been, which proved she wasn't human at least.

"What?"

It looked like he was going to have to relate the tale of Donna's uniquely different life to yet another person …

…wait, 'Dumbo's _Daughter_?'

/ / / /

_**Thirteen Months Previously…**_

Rose Tyler and her Doctor (_who else's could he be?_) remained motionless, staring into each other's eyes. Mere seconds had passed since Donna and the (_original, real_) Doctor had retreated into the TARDIS and dematerialised, leaving her trapped on Dålig Ulv Stranden with not even a sliver of hope she'd ever find a way back to _him_.

Behind them, Jackie's voice slowly faded into a whisper as the wind and distance stole her voice away. Rose knew it'd be a matter of minutes before someone from Torchwood would be there via teleport to take them back to London. It wasn't 'home'; even after three whole years, she'd _never_ called anything in this world home. Her home had just vanished in a blue box.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said, softly, breaking the slightly awkward silence between them. Rose still hadn't gotten over the shock of the three words that had left his lips such a short time ago. Did he mean them? Had the other him meant them too but refused to say it aloud to ease the agony of their second parting (even though, if anything, it had increased it tenfold)?

"What for?"

"For him leaving you here, with me. For the other me not being strong enough to tell you how much he loves you when he should have done."

"Did you mean it?"

"Of course I mean it. The other me meant it, too, he just couldn't say them and leave and he had to leave 'cause that Universe needs him."

"Then… then that's good. Okay. I… I'm not sayin' I won't miss him, 'cause I will… I _do_. But… you're here and he isn't. And I still love him. You."

"It's all right to miss him, Rose. I do, and he's me!" He chuckled quietly. "Look, I know it won't be the same sort of life, we… you had before, Rose… but… we can make a new one, together, if you'll let me… Someone wise beyond her years once said that life was better with two, do you remember?"

She could've laughed at that if it hadn't also pulled at her heartstrings, just as his vulnerable, lost expression already did. The best she could manage was an upturning of her lips—the other Doctor hadn't just left Rose, after all. This Doctor had had his whole life taken from him, essentially. The least she could do would be to ease that burden in whatever small ways she could.

Using his free hand, the Doctor delved into one of his jacket pockets and pulled out a pock-marked rock. He held it up before her, allowing her to see the soft glow that came from it, to hear the almost inaudible hum of its vibration.

"It's a piece of TARDIS coral. The other me gave it to me, just before we got here."

She snapped her eyes back to his immediately, questioning.

"Being here, in this universe. It isn't meant as a punishment, Rose, honestly," the Doctor answered. "Him and me, in one universe—even the TARDIS isn't big enough for two of me together. Last time that happened I nearly blew a hole in the universe the size of Belgium. _Any_way, with this piece of coral and the sonic screwdriver I nabbed when I wasn't looking and the psychic paper I left in this suit accidentally and _you_… well, you and me… well, what I'm trying to say is… come with me?"

Rose took the coral from him and brought it closer to her face. She could see tiny pulses of light running through even smaller cracks in its surface—the cracks were veins and the light was blood, she reasoned. She placed it in her jacket pocket; they'd deal with it properly when they returned to London.

The Doctor's hand that had held the coral gently cupped Rose's cheek. She leaned into it instinctively. The distance between them had diminished almost instantly and her eyes fluttered closed as the Doctor leaned towards her, his own eyes flickering briefly towards her parted lips, drawn like a moth to a flame.

They were denied the pleasure of a kiss by a sharp, keening sound. Moments before the flash of blinding white light washed over and _through_ them both, the Doctor gasped sharply as if he knew it had been coming and then the time for conscious thought had passed. Despite this and the feeling that the Doctor had been flung away from her, as Rose fell into the darkness of unnatural sleep she knew the grip on her hand had tightened further still, refusing to let go…

When she finally woke up, her eyes refused to work properly and she wasn't entirely sure she was awake because everything felt fuzzy, even the words in her head. Rose's mind registered a reassuring pressure on her left hand after a few seconds and knew that, despite whatever it was that had deposited her wherever she was, at least the Doctor was still with her. 'Wherever' was cold, she decided eventually. And noisy—a strong wind wailed as it buffeted over her still prone body, leeching even more heat that hadn't already been taken by the rocky ground beneath her.

"Isn't that _adorable_! Holding hands even through a trans-dimensional molecular transference. Ga, I'm going to vomit." A strangely familiar voice, one that had lodged in Rose's mind sometime ago, swam forcefully through the air towards her.

"Oh, _do_ shut up, the girl can probably hear you by now." A second voice broke her concentration. Definitely female though perhaps more real because she couldn't recall ever hearing it before.

"Remember your place, my _luscious one_."

"And I've told you before that if you continue calling me that I'll eviscerate you and feed you your own innards."

"You and your flights of fancy. _**I**_ am in control here, and you _will_ obey… oh, you're right, the girl finally sees fit to rejoin the living. Hello there, little rosebud, you've had an awfully long trip. How's your head?"

Rose wasn't sure the voices she heard were real or in her mind, at first, until she felt a cool hand placed against her forehead.

"Wh... what?" She managed to croak out; her throat was raw, as if she hadn't used it for a long time.

A strong though thin arm wrapped itself around her shoulders and aided her slowly to a sitting position. Aware of the pins and needles that shot their way throughout her body, Rose shivered as a sharp gust of wind assaulted her hair, tangling it in front of her blurry eyes. She felt the Doctor's fingers being pulled away from her own and she would have cried out at the injustice of it if she could.

"Come with me, _that's_ it... we're going to put you in this nice hammock and give you something to drink and then you can have a proper rest."

She found herself being pulled up to her feet, the arm around her shoulders slipping down to around her waist while her own arm was flung, boneless, around a set of shoulders (presumably belonging to the owner of that arm). Ground shifted beneath her feet as she was steadily guided towards something she couldn't see.

"That's it, few more steps and you can sit in the Web."

Rose was lowered gently onto a strange seat that had just enough give in it to be comfortable but somehow still remained rigid enough for her to lean back against without fear of falling through it. A small cup was placed in her hands and raised to her lips. She drank deeply without concentrating on what the liquid inside truly was. If she'd been in full command of her body and mind perhaps she might not have done so, even if it did taste like hot chocolate and was making her feel warm and sleepy...

...The next time she woke, it was with a piercing scream that carried her back into unconsciousness almost immediately. In the brief second she'd been lucid before the pain registered, she saw the metal poles and cables that violated her body in so many places. Golden light played over her bloodied skin and it was the cause of the light more than the physical torture of the metal spikes that sent her back into the darkness.

The Doctor hadn't stirred, except to utter a silent 'Rose' when her fingers had been removed from his hold on them. The two mysterious figures returned to his inert form and dragged him unceremoniously towards a cracked stone altar that stood in front of a battered red pyramid. Once the Doctor's form was settled upon the altar, the female began to work, hooking him up to mechanical devices that bleeped intermittently, inserting tubes into his arms after removing his jacket and shirt. Bags of clear solution were attached to these tubes methodically, each one sending drips of liquid agony through his veins.

Every few minutes the woman would pick up a syringe filled with liquids of varying colours and inject them into the Doctor. Even though he was dead to the world, his body still reacted violently to the foreign substances entering his blood stream. After a short while, however, his convulsions settled down. Satisfied that she had accomplished the first stage successfully, the woman raised an ornate dagger high over the Doctor's now bare chest…

The howling wind cried like a broken-hearted man as the woman's male companion watched this strange scene unfold with a manic glint in his dark eyes and a laugh bubbling from his lips…

—_Finis_—

(And leave you with a cliffhanger like that? Why not…)

* * *

**Additional Notes:** The next chapter will be a longer time coming as I'll be away from an internet connection on and off for the next couple of weeks. It won't stop me from writing, as the majority of this story was and is written the old-fashioned way—what it _will_ do is prevent me from uploading completed chapters, at least until life settles down properly.


End file.
